


Scorched Chapter 1 : Burning Flags, Burning Bridges

by RockingSpaceDragon



Series: The Scorched Series. [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28412301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockingSpaceDragon/pseuds/RockingSpaceDragon
Summary: Fundy must face the consequences of his actions when he realises what an affect his house arrest of Philza has had on their relationship - as well as how he really feels about his father. The first part of the Scorched Series, a series of stories about and involving members of the Dream SMP.
Relationships: Floris | Fundy & Phil Watson, Floris | Fundy & Wilbur Soot
Series: The Scorched Series. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129175
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	Scorched Chapter 1 : Burning Flags, Burning Bridges

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

It was a cold, wet day In Lmanburg; the rain came down heavily, thick sheets that crashed down onto the wooden floors of the city and the deep pools of water beneath and around the city proper; creating a drumming, echoing ambience that seemed to isolate the two of them as they stood; the Fox, soaked through with hat and coat, damp fur and wetter clothes; though for all of the cold that the weather bestowed, it couldn’t compare to the ice that seemed to have bloomed in his chest.  
The words cut through Fundy like a knife as his gaze met that of the figure standing in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame. A steel monitor was wrapped around one ankle, and they both knew that if he took another step forward it'd go off and he'd be in trouble. Philza was the one who was trapped, so why was it that Fundy felt like he couldn't move, trapped in the cold embrace of the man in the doorway, a gaze leagues apart from the warmth behind his eyes that he remembered from their days fishing and hanging out. That cold seemed to spread from his chest until it wrapped around his bones, keeping him locked in place.

The words brought back bad memories; often said in joke or incredulities by his friends, he’d only heard this kind of inflection once before – after his appearance in Pogtopia. He still remembered it vividly; the way Wilbur had cast his eyes towards him, looking down at him with contempt, with pain written across his face and spitting the words towards him, accusatory and harsh. He’d explained himself then and Wilbur’s face had softened, a laugh breaking across his features as he turned excitedly back towards Tommy and Quackity, but the eyes that met his whenever Wilbur turned back towards him were as cold as ever. It was those same eyes that were fixed on Fundy now; like father, like son. The kind of gaze that made him feel small, made him feel weak, no matter how many weapons hung by his side or how much armour he had in his inventory.  
He swallowed for a moment, before forcing a smile across his face, gesturing towards Philza once more "W-Well, I figured that we could hang out! I know you're stuck at home because of the…” He gestured vaguely towards the bracelet before continuing “so maybe we could... Play some board games, or you could show me some of the old photos you have of Wilbur and Tommy, or we could work on the basement or-!"

"No."

The word felt like a punch to the gut and Fundy's voice died in his throat, his lips going dry as he opened his mouth to talk, going to say something before Philza's voice cut into him once more, stealing the voice from his throat "How dare you. You broke into my home and demanded that I give up my oldest and most trusted friend, then when I told you I wouldn’t, you threatened me, ransacked my house, imprisoned me in my own home and then mocked me. You stood outside of my home, mocking me, before running off with the Compass that Techno trusted me with, to hunt him down.” Philza’s grip tightened on the doorframe and Fundy could swear that he could hear the wood beginning to crack beneath the grip of the man; the cold in his eyes was gone now, replaced with a fire that crackled in his throat and lit every word that he spat towards the fox. “And then- AND THEN. You drag him from his home, where he’d been living in peaceful retirement, under the pretence of a trial, only to try and execute him in front of me, when I couldn’t do anything but watch.” 

Fundy could feel his fur standing on end, even as damp as it was, but he couldn’t move an inch away from the man who’d locked him in place much like they’d trapped Techno days before. All he could do was stand there as Phil continued.

“Allow me to be very clear with you, Fundy. If Techno had died in that cage, none of you would have lived to regret it.” His wings flare up behind him, obscuring the light coming from the house behind him before folding behind his back once more as he turns around, glancing back towards the rain-drenched fox standing out on the wooden platform “The last thing I want to do is kill another son of mine, but It seems like this city hasn’t given me a choice.” He turns, back facing him, pulling his hat down low “Because you’re already dead to me.” 

The sound of the door slamming shut echoed out around the city, leaving Fundy alone, clutching at his jacket, gaze turned down towards the ground, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched tightly as the rain helped to mask the fresh dampness on his face. After a moment, he turns, walking away from the house, every step echoing out on the wooden floor; it was only after he was far enough away from the house that he broke into a sprint, running along the wooden path leading away from the city, then away from the path itself, kicking up damp leaves behind him as he goes sprinting into the woods until his legs give out and he collapses back against a tree, pulling his knees to his chest and curling up into a ball.

Once more, his mind turns back to the man who’d just slammed a door in his face; his grandfather, who’d been so kind and gentle with him; who’d taught him how to fish, who’d taken him in when he lost his home, who’d been there when nobody else was – and what had he done? 

He’d done the same thing he always did – he went along with the orders of someone in power and ended up pushing away his family because of it. Before it was Wilbur and Schlatt – pushing away his father and burning down the flag under Schlatt’s orders, and now it was Philza – following Tubbo’s orders and burning the bridge he had with his grandfather too. If there was one thing he was good at it was lighting fires, but those same flames, he found, always came back to turn the things he cared about to ash.

“Oh, hello Fundy! Are you alright?”

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of a voice, echoing and faint – he knows who it belongs to even before he raises his eyes to meet the empty, white eyes of the ghost hovering in front of him, a smile on his face as he tilts his head to the side and floats down into a sitting position beside Fundy, looking out at the rain still coming down in sheets as he sighs “I was coming to see L’manburg, but the rain started coming down before I could get there, so I had to run to this forest so I didn’t melt! What’re you doing here?” He turns to the fox, but Fundy turns away from the figure who used to be his father, staying silent as Ghostbur’s smile turns into a frown and he floats around till he’s in front of the Fox once more, lightly hovering in the air “Oh no! You seem upset, Fundy – here, have some blue, it’ll help suck away the sadness!” he smiles, rummaging about in his pocket and throwing some of that strange blue ectoplasm out towards Fundy, who let it land in his lap.  
There’s a pause for a moment as ghostbur floats, looking around nervously before Fundy sighs, taking the blue and looking at it, letting it stain his paws before clenching his fists around it and throwing it into the forest, causing the spectre to gasp “Oh no! If you do that, it won’t-“ 

“Forget it!” Fundy snapped, catching the ghost off-guard, who seemed to recoil for a second from the outburst; he watches as Fundy uncurls, letting the back of his head hit the tree and looking up into the branches of the tree, drops of rain making their way through to drip down onto his face. He sighs heavily, closing his eyes before lowering his head once more to meet that empty gaze “Of course, you would show up now.” He laughs, sharp and devoid of humour, hitting the tree lightly “Wilbur was never around when I needed him, and yet, and yet YOU somehow seem to ALWAYS know when to show up!” the laughing continues, as Fundy’s voice cracks and breaks until he’s sobbing audibly, face buried in his arms so he can’t see the ghost reaching out towards him for a moment before pulling back. “Why? Why can’t I stop fucking up like this? It feels like everyone I try and get close to, I end up either pushing away or losing entirely! All I ever wanted to do was…” His voice drops, turning and looking up at the ghost with tears running down his face and drawing in a shaky breath “All I ever wanted to do was make him proud, y’know? I wanted to hear him say, just once, that he was proud of me.”  
So engrossed is Fundy in his own sorrow that he doesn’t notice the effect that his words have on Ghostbur; how every mention of Wilbur makes him flinch and recoil somewhat, and how the mention of wanting to make him proud causes the ghost to bring a hand to the wound in his chest, slowly trailing over it as he looks away and Fundy squeezes his eyes shut to try and stop the tears running down his face.

So deep is the fox in his bittersweet grief, that he doesn’t realise that he’s been pulled into Ghostbur’s lap until it’s already happened, his hat removed and set to the side as the spectral figure rests his chin between the fox’s ears, atop his head, arms wrapped around him and brought together in front of him; it’s a moment before he speaks, looking out into the woods “Alivebur…sounds like he was a terrible father. Everything that I’ve heard of him sounds like he was a terrible person, so I can’t imagine he was a good dad, either. But…if that’s the case, why do I have good memories as your dad?” the question hangs in the air, and he continues “Does that mean I wasn’t always an awful dad?”  
The only sound that follows is the impact of rain coming down on the leaves and the rustling of the wind rushing through the forest, before Fundy breaks the silence “…You didn’t used to be bad. I still have…good memories, of growing up with you, in L’manburg, it’s just…things went wrong somewhere along the way” he turns his gaze up, looking at the dark grey sky above through the leaves “Sometime – I wonder, y’know? How things could be if you were still around. If Tubbo wasn’t president, if Tommy wasn’t exiled. If you- if Alivebur…had been here when I needed him most instead of just leaving me to deal with everything by myself.” 

Wilbur rubs his arm sheepishly, looking up too “I…don’t know. People didn’t seem to like Alivebur much, but…everyone still followed him. It seems like all people have to talk about is how much he ruined everything, but If he was really that bad…how come I have good memories at all?” 

When there’s no answer the spectral figure sighs, running a paw through Fundy’s fur absentmindedly, a slow, steady brush, a gesture that brings them both immediately back to a simpler time – a time when the two of them could sit in the forests surrounding Lmanburg, before they were destroyed, looking out over their home, just a father and his son. 

Ghostbur wasn’t sure when Fundy fell asleep, he just knew that the next time he looked down, he saw his – Alivebur’s – son, laying against his chest, eyes closed and breathing steadily. A smile crosses faintly across his face as he gazes down at the sleeping fox, brushing through his fur again gently “My little champion…you’ve been so brave, and so strong…” He shifts, looking down at his faintly see-through hands and then at the fox still resting against him, rummaging about in his pocket for something he’d stolen from Philza; a single golden Idol, emerald eyes set into it’s face that seemed to be looking back at him. It felt cold to the touch, even for him, as he tossed it from hand to hand slowly, thinking. It seemed, to him, that as much as everyone liked Ghostbur…

…People Needed Alivebur. People needed Wilbur. Tommy needed a brother. Philza needed a son, L’manburg needed a president, and Fundy…Fundy needed a dad.

As he slept, Fundy dreamed. He dreamed of years back, wandering through the forest with Wilbur, walking around L’manburg together, that warm, friendly voice calling him ‘His little champion’ as he stands, side by side in uniform with his father. He dreams of the revolution, of fighting together – of growing up and into the clothes that he wore today; before those dreams turn sour, and he can hear the laughing bleating in his ears from the long-dead tyrant, snapping awake with a gasp.

A soft bleat fills his ears as he wakes up, glancing up to see the fluffy blue wool of friend surrounding him, being happily used as a makeshift pillow as they munch casually on some grass. Ghostbur is nowhere to be seen, the sun shining down faintly as the fox rests in the grass underneath the tree.  
In his lap rests a damp, well-worn, entirely solid black beanie, slowly drying in the warmth of the midday sun.


End file.
